Just so you know, happy hour was a smashing success, even though our bartender was a raging asshole. But it's not like we're going to let a little something like that rain on our parade. Thanks, ladies, for an awesome evening!
Of course, little did I know that my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day wasn't quite over. On the way home from happy hour, complete with lots of talking and laughing on the drive with Miss Burrows, my phone rang. And it was my husband. And I answered it anyway. And he was FLIPPING INSANE WITH RAGE at 11:45 p.m., having just gotten home from taking Erinna to a movie and walking in on "something shady" going on with Taylor and "some shifty looking kid." I still haven't managed to get all of the details but an empty whiskey bottle in the boy's bedroom was involved.
While I'm trying to figure out what Tim is yelling into the phone about, my call waiting beeps, and it is, OF COURSE, Taylor, wanting to get to me first with his side of the story.
I'll spare you the details. But that, my friends, is what is known as a major buzz kill after a great night.
Hopefully, everyone in my household has had a chance to CHILL THE HELL OUT after sleeping on it last night.
Now on to the mystery for the day. Someone was POUNDING my door down at 8:40 this morning (we have no doorbell). No one got up and answered it. I was awake but still in bed, and my rationale was by the time I throw on sweats and get down to the door, they'll be gone. But now the curiosity is killing me. Who in the world was POUNDING on my door that early on a Sunday morning? My only guess so far is my neighbor whose car got dinged last night. Because I really want to be in the middle of that.
4 comments:
Today will be better my friend. Nothing can top a funeral, cat piss and a raging husband yelling into the phone.
it wasn't me...
and by shady does he mean drinking? I've had similar "goings on" over here all weekend times 3. Toss in a "I'm 18 and decided to go to the casino and not come home until 2am, never once telling anyone where he was. Why would he, he was fine. UGH!!!! If I were them I'd be much smarter about doing such shit when it's 28degrees out and they're option is to live in their car, or for your guy-bike! This is precisely why the housewives of 1950 had happy hour. Those chics knew a thing or two!
Good God. On a lighter note, did you check your receipt for our spectacular server's name? RJ STUD.
I kid you not. Hereafter, I decree he shall be referred to as Stud Shithead. If that's okay with you, that is...
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